


The Only Warmth He Craved

by LeeMorrigan



Series: Fire & Ice [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Frigga would be pleased, Loki needs hugs, Loki was Frigga's baby, Loki's hands, Loki's long lost lover, Missing Scene, Thor and Loki are brothers to the end, Thor was Odin's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 03:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12926583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeMorrigan/pseuds/LeeMorrigan
Summary: Hulk and a Valkyrie weren't the only surprises Loki found among the gladiator arena of Sakaar. What happens when a former flame returns to Loki's life just as Death is taking Asgard? Also features a flashback of Frigga and Odin, as well as Loki's pondering over his identity now that he's back in his usual raven-haired guise and homeless on a garbage planet, his father dead, brother a gladiator, long-lost sister taking over Asgard, and the lover he thought dead now having just become a Champion of the Arena.Spoilers for RAGNAROK.





	The Only Warmth He Craved

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Marvel (or Frigga would totally be alive and would have spanked Hela, sent her back to her room, and Asgard wouldn't be kaput) or these characters, I am just taking them for a spin.   
> No sex (just a little making out & some kissing), cussing, gore (just scars), violence, or death. Missing-scene style fic.  
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy it!

Loki hated his hands. As a child, they had been too small and too fragile to do the things Odin’s hands did. When he got a bit older, they still lacked the strength to do what Thor’s hands did with ease. Frigga tried. Oh, how she had tried to help Loki embrace his differences rather than hate them while wishing to be what he was not.

Frigga would teach him to do the magic she wielded so easily, she would teach him how to handle a knife as his weapon- even how to tuck them under his sleeves using magic so they could not be detected by sight or touch, and she taught him to write in a fine hand. Thor could write in the bold, blocky style that mimicked Odin, he was not bad with a knife though it was more a small punching blade in his hands, and only the magic gifted to him by his hammer was of any use to the Golden Son of Odin.

Loki had detested his hands more and more as he grew. His hands were so much like everything else about him- completely different from all of Asgard and not acceptable. Not comparable to Thor or Odin. Loki had once overheard a fight between his parents, as a child when nightmares of great wolves with glowing eyes, had woken him late in the night. Frigga, ever his champion, had been trying to convince Odin of why he needed to spend some time with Loki that didn’t include her, tutors, or Thor.

“You cast a mighty shadow, my love.”

“As I should. Am I not Odin Allfather, king and protector of Asgard? Guardian of the Nine Realms?”

“Indeed, which is why your opinion is more than just a father, though that would be enough of a weight behind your approval or distain.”

“I do not feel distain for my son, Frigga.”

“No, of course not.”, she said as she came around the bed to stand before her husband as he stood in his night clothes, ready for bed.

“However, I am not so sure our son knows that.”

“I am his father, of course I love him. It is my job.”

Frigga let out a noise Loki had never heard from her. A growl. An honest to goodness growl.

“You do not understand at all! You cannot treat him as a duty, a royal burden, something you MUST tend to. He is a CHILD! You are supposed to make him feel that you love him because you saw him and just fell in love with this beautiful, brand new soul. Children should not have to earn their father’s love. It should be freely given and it should be displayed openly and often.”

“No. He is too small, Frigga. Thor is robust, he can handle the places I take him and the tasks I insist on his accomplishing. Loki is… fragile.”

“No, he’s slender and a bit short for his age. If you took him with you, if you trained with him, did with him as you do Thor, as you have done with Sif and a few others in the past, I believe you would be surprised what your son is capable of, dear husband.”

Frigga walked off to her side of the bed, beginning to blow out the candles she kept burning as she had been braiding her hair before Loki arrived to eavesdrop. Halfway through the candles, when her own image was silhouetted by the remaining candles, she said her final words on the matter.

“You cast a mighty shadow, Odin Allfather.”

Then she blew out the remaining candles and crawled into their bed. Loki had waited a moment before sneaking off into the darkness to sleep outside of Thor’s bedroom door. He had much to consider after what he had overheard. With just the light of a few torches, he looked at his hands. ‘ _Fragile_ ’ was the word his father had used to describe him.

‘ _Slender_ ’, his mother’s word. He looked at his hands. Long, slender fingers, too weak to hold war hammers, clubs, axes, or swords, barely able to hold his mother’s knives. He did much better with needles as his mother and her friend, the healer Agnes, taught him to mend flesh without the aid of magic. He hated his hands, his hair, his skin, his size, his face. Thor was peachy-faced, golden haired, tall, already muscular, with hands that could grip almost like a boy twice their ages. Loki was short, skinny as a blade of grass, his hair was too dark to be normal for the Asgardian royal family and most of the Aesir, with the delicate hands of a musician, skin like snow, and a face that already had features too sharp to make him friendly looking like Thor or Frigga.

Now, looking at his hands and then up to his reflection in the mirror, he still hated what he saw. Not as much as he hated what he saw when his magic did not give him the guise he had grown accustomed to seeing in mirrors. Eyes like freshly spilled blood, skin that burned all it touched while looking blue as old ice, lines running along his features to make him look even more the monster, and a leathery texture to his skin that made everything feel as though it were scratching him.

After the revelation about his true origins and race, several things had made more sense. Not just Odin’s reluctance to name Loki as his second official heir or why Loki was never quite like Thor and Odin, but smaller things. Why he hated being in tropical paradises that everyone else loved. Why he never felt the bite of winter the way everyone else did, rarely needing a cloak or heavier boots when traveling to frozen wastes that everyone else bundled up for, then complained about all the while they were gone. Why his touch made people jump, gooseflesh rising from the contact, as he still maintained a rather cold body temperature. Why he sometimes got ill from being overheated. All those years he spent thinking it was because he was Odin and Frigga’s fragile child, the one who couldn’t hold his own against the other Aesir.

Just as Loki was about to begin undressing out of his armor and head into the makeshift bed in his apartments of Sakaar, he felt something that would always stop him. Two overly warm arms encircled him at his middle, with a very warm torso pressing against his back and a warm cheek coming to rest between his scapulae. He couldn’t help it. One arm moved, his cold hand resting over the crossed arms at his sternum.

“You were taking forever. I counted.”

He chuckled in the back of his throat. Despite all that was going on, Maeve never failed to lift his spirits. If she had been around, if he had known she still lived, during Thor’s aborted coronation… It did not do to dwell on such things. Turning in her arms, he faced her, letting his hands hang useless at his sides.

“How long does it take to count to forever?”

She stuck her tongue out at him, scrunching up her face. She was clearly tired. This morning she had been one of the Champions, however she had won the terms of her contract to get out and as such, she was now the Grand Master’s guest. Thankfully, she had not been gravely wounded and sported only a few bruises and a single cut over her left eyebrow to show for her efforts.

“I will come to bed in a moment, I just need to disrobe.”

“Loki, you could do that with a snap of your fingers. What is truly wrong? You can tell me.”

He nodded. Years ago, when they had been younger, before fate and family squabbles had separated them, they had been quite close. Frigga had been discussing wedding details with Loki when they were alone. Even Thor had commented as to how well suited the two of them were, which had made Loki feel all the more need to continue at he and Maeve’s dance. He had been a fool.

“Thor is one of the Grand Master’s new contenders, and I fear he will not survive this Hulk and his quest to return ho… to Asgard.”

She smiled against his chest. She hadn’t missed his slip. He didn’t expect her to. Unlike Thor who could guess Loki’s illusions a little more than half the time, Maeve had always known when she was speaking to the real Loki or a projection. She also recognized Loki in every shape and form he had taken, sometimes allowing her to take him with her on their travels in their youth, as people believed he was her horse or a fancy helmet she was bringing as a gift for a local friend.

“Thor is the best warrior of Asgard, he’ll be fine. Besides, if he’s changed as much as you have, he’ll probably charm that green brute and they’ll be fighting their way out of here by dinner tomorrow.”

“And what happens when he returns?”

She let out a sigh.

“You’ll help him take back Asgard.”

Loki looked down at her in surprise. She was still hugging him, her face turned and resting against the center of his chest. It had been an old favorite spot for her, ever since they were old enough to go on adventures without the Allfather or a garrison of guards.

“You have a great deal of faith in my following him on what is a suicide mission, despite your believe otherwise.”

He felt a single snorted laugh from her. Or perhaps a huff. It was hard to tell through the blasted Sakaarian leather attire.

“Do you recall when you and Thor got into that fight over some sort of lesson you were both learning back in Asgard, how you two were ready to kill each other until those Deloricans showed up and you fought, back to back, against them all?”

He nodded.

“Later, when you, Thor, myself, and Frigga’s guard returned and your tutor asked how the two of you could go from being so ready to kill each other, to fighting beside each other as if you hadn’t wanted to dispatch one another only a moment earlier… do you remember what you told the old man?”

“No.”

“You told him, and I am sure I have the wording right, ‘ _No one gets to kill my brother except me_ ’. Despite all that has transpired, I do not believe for a moment that you would permit your brother’s death without a fight.”

“He’s not my brother.”

She looked up at him, confused. He had yet to reveal that bit to her, having told her almost everything else, in broad strokes, over the past few hours. She knew he had nearly died and barely was able to mend himself back together so he could shapeshift and return to Asgard, where he imprisoned Odin as an old mortal on Midgard, ruling Asgard in Odin’s absence and countenance until Thor showed up. Of Odin’s death and his warning, of Hela’s true origin, and of all that happened in New York. How he had nearly destroyed Jotunheim, had broken the Bifrost, and had disrupted Thor’s almost-coronation.

“Maeve, there is one thing I have yet to tell you and I do not think you will wish to know it.”

She stood back, her shoulders squared and her head tilted at a defiant angle, practically daring Loki to prove her wrong in whatever would come out of her mouth next.

“Show me this fearful truth, Loki. I will not run.”

“Maeve, you will run. You will hate me, fear me, if I tell you the full truth.”

“You do not give me enough credit. Come. Tell me.”

Loki let out a long breath, then closed his eyes and concentrated. He could feel it. Like wearing a perfectly comfortable blanket wrapped around him keeping the burning sun off his skin, only to have it peeled back, leaving him exposed. He could also feel how the room seemed to grow warmer, by comparison to his natural skin. Opening his eyes, he expected to find Maeve falling away from him, screaming, fleeing the room, or even pulling up the weapon natural to her- fire.

“Oh Loki.”, she whispered.

“I was abandoned by Loufey because I was a runt. Odin found me and blended his magic with mine, making me appear as a raven-haired Aesir.”

She went to touch him, but he ducked away.

“No!”

She retracted her hand, though she looked as though she were worried she had done something wrong. Loki held up his hands, taking another half step back, away from her.

“Don’t touch me. You’ll be frost-bitten, burned terribly.”

She nodded, well aware of the bite of the Jutons. It seemed only because it being him, she had temporarily forgotten the danger. She waited till Loki had returned to the form they were both more familiar with, before she reached to touch him.

“That is a heavy burden, though there are things it does not change.”

“Such as?”

“For starters, you are still Loki. Still the mischief maker and wordsmith. For another, Thor is still your brother, no matter how blue you may be or how much in love with Midgard he has become. Odin made no distinction between you in his final moments with you, he called you his sons. Plaural. And, from what you said, he took the time to let you know Frigga would have been proud of you for how well you did making him forget who he was. Loki, please? Don’t allow this to corrupt your heart? To poison your soul?”

He let out a dark chuckle.

“I fear you are too late.”

She shook her head.

“We cannot change the first chapter, nor any that have passed. We can, however far into the novel, change course to try for a better ending and maybe a few good chapters before it.”

He smiled, despite himself, shaking his head.

“You always did speak more like some half-crazed mystic, than of the Firebrands.”

She shrugged a single shoulder, moving back into his personal space to their breath comingled in the air between them. He looked closely. Some things had not changed at all about her. She still had those dark eyes that called to him like the Sirens of old, skin to match his own except for the scars across her hands and neck from when she had yet to discover her gift, hair that hung in loose waves down her back in the same color as the flames that danced around her hands when she was merely making someone back off, and she still smelled of flames, warmth, roses, and something like fireworks but sweeter. She walked with more history, as sad and lonely as the woman who captured Thor, though without the complete devastation of old loss and memories. She also had not turned to a bottle to dull her pain, instead sending it back at anyone who challenged her in the arena.

Unable to help himself any longer, Loki wrapped his arms around her, instantly feeling the warmth seeping right to his marrow. Most others would have complained about how cold he made them with so much contact. Maeve never would. She snuggled into his chest, smiling. He could read it plainly. She had missed this as keenly as he had.

“Come to bed.”

“That a request or a command?”

“Depends. I am the Champion who won her freedom and a bunch of credits, so technically I could say I’m claiming another prize in the form of a somewhat displaced prince. Or I could be a very tired, very lonely old lover who simply wishes to hold you a little longer before you disappear to save your brother.”

He nodded.

“Will you come with me?”

“I’d go anywhere with you, Loki. All you ever had to do was ask.”

He nodded. He would not ask her to come where he and Thor would be going. If they survived, he would ask her to come to Asgard. Perhaps with Thor’s changes and her being there, it would not be so intolerable. He might even enjoy being home.

He followed her lead to the bed, using his magic to make his clothes change to the simple black pants and thin green shirt he always slept in. Another flick of his wrist and she was in a fine blue and violet gown, similar to the one she had worn the last time he had shared a bed with her. She hated to have her flesh on too much of a display, in part because of her numerous scars as well as basic modesty. The gown only showed her legs if she moved just right and it showed most of her back, as Loki loved running his hands up and down her spine, watching her smile and lean into his touch where others would have shivered and flinched away.

Moving into the bed, she seemed a bit unsure as she crawled in, careful to keep a little distance. Loki was confused for a moment before he remembered how long it had been since they had seen each other. They were out of practice and should really have been strangers. He opened his arms to her, making the invitation clear. She did not have to be asked twice, quickly moving into his side and resting her head against his shoulder and encircling him with one arm.

Loki looked down, seeing his thin, slender fingers stroking her flesh as her sleeve moved up to expose her pale, scarred flesh. He noticed he was so pale and his hands looked even more fragile against her scars and against the strong, toned lower arm he was caressing. He then felt her growl before he saw her move to crane her neck, giving her a better angle to look at his face from.

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“Picking yourself apart. I could feel it.”

“Are you sure you aren’t some sort of Empath or Seer?”

“Don’t need to be. I just know you.”

She picked up the hand that had been stroking her, looking at it for a moment before holding it up for Loki’s inspection. He had seen it plenty of times and tried to pull it away.

“Why do you hate your hands so much? What is so wrong with them?”

“Do not worry about it. Let’s just get some sleep.”

“You hate that they are willowy and slight, perfect for magic and music. That they are pale and perfect, with no scar or callous. These are the hands of someone meant to use his mind over his brawn. They are a reflection of you, Loki. You should not hate them so.”

He shook his head.

“They are cold, sharp, and they hurt everyone they touch. Yes, a perfect reflection.”

She took his one hand and pressed it to the side of her face, guiding him to cradle her cheek. She nuzzled into his palm, kissing the heel of his hand before looking up at him.

“Loki, these hands were always one of my favorite things about you. These hands are deadly yet I never felt more cared for than when they were reaching to touch me. I am a raging inferno, always too hot to ever be comfortable, except when you are by my side- ice to my flame, cool to the touch and not shying away from the warmth of my skin the way others had. These are the hands that have tended many of my wounds, that have saved Thor’s life, and have conjured tricks to make me smile when I was in so much pain from my emerging powers that I just wanted to curl up and die. These hands were shy of all touch but mine, which they sought out. These are the first hands I ever held aside from those of my parents, these hands have held mine in the dark when I was frightened and angry, they have wiped my tears and put broken fingers back into place, they have tenderly loved me when others thought me too dangerous to risk touching. You are not the only one with a burning touch, Loki Friggason.”

He felt his chest tighten even as he almost smiled. She had always called him Friggason when she was cross with him, as if she knew invoking his mother’s name was more a reminder of how he ought to behave and whom he ought to be trying to make proud, rather than assuming like all others than his father’s name was the more important one. Pulling her closer again, he kissed her temple.

“So, you like my skinny, too long, frigid fingers?”

She smiled.

“I love them.”

“Good. Once Thor and I’s business is concluded, I intend to return for you and bring you back to Asgard and then, once I’ve found a place where we will not be disturbed, I intend to try to make up for some lost time. So these hands will not be removed from your person for quite some time after we return to Asgard.”

She smiled and leaned up to kiss him.

“I like this plan. Now, get some sleep. You have a god to save tomorrow, then you’ve gotta get home through one of these portals somehow, and go fight Death for Asgard. You’ll have your work cut out for you in the morning.”

He smiled, waiting.

“And then you have to make up the past few centuries with me, husband.”

That widened his smile to a level he had not thought himself capable of any more.

“I thought it didn’t count, as we were only children?”

She poked him with a finger to his ribs, eliciting a noise of discontent before she moved back into her spot against his chest, her nose almost in his neck.

“Technically, it does not count and I was made aware months later that Odin already had a bride picked out for you. I doubt he would have permitted you marrying a Firebrand.”

Loki let out a sigh. She deserved to know.

“You had my mother’s vote. She used to ask me, frequently, when I was going to come to my senses and marry you. She even promised to tell Odin that she would insist on you over anyone he had picked out over the years.”

He looked to see Maeve’s eyes glisten over. She and Frigga had been fond of one another. It had been perfectly normal for him to return from a trip with Thor and Thor’s friends, to find Maeve in the gardens with his mother, the two having tea and joking about something. Maeve had no talent for growing things, though she was very good with wounded, frightened animals, earning her Frigga’s attention in the first place. Her treatment of Loki had been enough to ensure Frigga would love her forever.

Maeve reached, tilting her head up to kiss Loki’s jaw. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her lips against his skin. It was the only warmth he had ever craved.

“I’m sorry I did not get a chance to say goodbye though, I am more sorry that she did not get to say her goodbyes to you or Thor.”

Loki reached, taking her free hand in his, interlacing their fingers and studying their joined hands. Her fingers were strong and the skin had a roughness from her scars and handling her weapons, while his were smooth and slender. His were long, hers a bit blunt. His hands felt like ice to most, while hers burned like the sun. Opposites yet so alike in so many ways.

He caught a small smile at the corner of his eyes, before she pulled her hand away for a moment, letting the air just over her palm erupt with a green flame. Chuckling, she held it out for his inspection. Loki traced his fingers around it, not quite allowing them into the flame.

“At night, when I couldn’t sleep, I practiced. I hoped someday I’d get out of here and back to Asgard, so I could show off.”

He smiled, moving forward to kiss her. The flames dancing over her hand just winked out, in favor of wrapping her arms both around Loki. Ending the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers.

“After the fight with Hela, I am not letting you out of my sight again for at least a decade.”

She chuckled a little.

“I could live with that.”

He smiled, about to kiss her when she stopped him with his name.

“Loki?”

“Yes?”

“Why haven’t you asked me to come to Asgard with you?”

“Because you’ve done enough fighting.”

“I might be useful. What is death compared to fire?”

“No.”

She gave him a look, somewhere between hurt and angry. Loki almost gave.

“She destroyed Thor’s hammer like it was a frail crystal decoration. Odin could barely hold her back. She tossed Thor and I around in the Bifrost as though we were toys. Please, Maeve, do not come with us tomorrow? I am not even sure I will permit Thor to go. He is safer here. As are you.”

“Loki, you may believe you’ll keep Thor here and that you can just let Asgard die, but I know you. You won’t do either of those things.”

“Then promise me something?”

She nodded, listening. Loki hesitated. He had no intentions of returning home or of getting Thor off this rock. If Thor survived another bout with Hulk, he might win his freedom and that would be fine. No matter what, Loki intended to keep Thor here. Despite their differences, he couldn’t lose Thor again and if Thor went back to Asgard, Loki would be alone.

“Stay here, in this room all day tomorrow. Do not leave for anyone or anything. When I’m done, I’ll come for you and we can go anywhere you want. Asgard, your home, even Midgard if you wish it. Anywhere.”

She considered.

“Fine, I will stay here and wait for you.”

Loki smiled, about to kiss her when she spoke again.

“I will not wait forever, wordsmith. You know how easily I grow bored. If you are not back within two weeks, I will come looking for you and I am not known for my forgiving nature.”

He let out a sigh, his forehead falling to rest against her shoulder.

“Fine. I agree to your terms.”

“And I mean two weeks outside of Sakaar, not within it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“You drive a very hard bargain, my dear.”

She smirked. Clearly she remembered his using that endearment meant he was somewhat irritated with her.

“Don’t worry, husband. You’ll survive. Thor and I are the only ones allowed to kill you.”

He grinned ferociously at her, leaning close to her lips.

“You called me ‘husband’, woman.”

She grinned.

“Well, there was that little ceremony when we were young. Heimdall even attended.”

“By accident.”

“He sees everything. Do you really think that was an accident?”

Loki paused. He had never actually stopped to think about that before. It made him wonder about some of the hints Heimdall may have been dropping for a while now about Maeve. He was pulled from his mind’s wandering by a warm hand across his cheek, drawing him down for a kiss. A kiss he lost himself in.

No matter what he told himself, he had a horrible feeling that Thor would talk him into going to fight for their home. Loki was a wordsmith, yes, but Thor had their mother’s gift for making Loki act against his own good and do something foolhardy and heroic. And if Thor was successful this time, Loki would probably be dead by the time Maeve came looking for him.

Loki intended to enjoy every last moment he could with Maeve. If she had been made to cross his path shortly before he reached the end of the road, then he would make the most of the time they had. He loved her. He almost never said it to her, yet she never seemed to need a verbal confirmation of what he communicated to her with jokes, stolen kisses, and holding onto her at night when her demons and old ghosts haunted her dreams.

From the way she was kissing him and how tightly she clung to him, Loki could tell she suspected he did not expect to survive the battle. Just as Loki moved his hand, he heard her hiss. Moving, he checked and saw she was holding her side. He quickly pulled at the back of the gown, exposing her side. She was bruised far worse than he originally thought and likely had cracked several ribs. He marveled at her ignoring the pain he had surely been causing, pressed against her and somewhat overtop of her.

Loki moved, rolling onto his back and gently bringing her along. He then moved his hand to rest over her ribs, making sure to lower his magic just enough that his hand truly would feel as cold as ice. He could see how she flinched at first contact, but relaxed into the iciness of his touch.

“That feels like Heaven.”

“You and your Christian beliefs. One might mistake you for a Midgardian.”

She grinned.

“I spent enough time there over the years, besides, it’s an expression.”

Loki smiled, his eyes sliding closed as he held her. It may not have been the night he imagined before leaving her behind, although it was good enough. He was not going to go back to Asgard, he would stop Thor’s attempts to return even if he had to chain him to another gladiator, and he would be back in this room with Maeve in time to have supper. There would be plenty of time for a proper reunion later. For now, he was content to hold her close and use his magic to bring her some relief since his magic had never been good at healing anyone besides himself.

“Promise me you won’t die tomorrow.”

Loki smirked. He wasn’t going to leave Sakaar, let alone fight anyone. This would be an easy promise to keep.

“I promise.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to burn Death to a crisp in a cage-match to get you back. But I would though. Don’t doubt it.”

He suppressed a shiver, his mind conjuring a terrible montage of a battle between Death and his Firebrand. He would not permit Hela to come within 10,000 leagues of Maeve. Ever.

“Go to sleep. Your body needs rest to heal.”

“Goodnight, Loki.”

He smiled, able to tell she was already asleep by the change of her breathing and how relaxed her facial muscles were. No traces of the tiredness, pride, or sharp wit that had been present before. Just a slight smile on her darkly stained lips.

“Goodnight, my love.”, he whispered before he allowed sleep to take him. Soon, he needed to go see Thor and figure out how to keep him on Sakaar. And he needed to figure out the story on that woman who had brought Thor in. Loki had a suspicion she was not only Asgardian, he believed there was something else about her that would shortly come into play for either Thor’s escape attempts or the Grand Master’s intentions on the brothers from Asgard.

For now, Loki slept. His brother was alive and mostly safe, his homeworld was under attack, his father was dead, Death threatened the Nine Realms, and Loki was stuck on a garbage planet with the woman he thought lost and dead for centuries past. His mind needed the time to adjust and to conjure up a solution to keep them all alive and on the winning side of things here on Sakaar. And for now, he intended to enjoy the forgotten feeling of warmth as his favorite Firebrand slumbered in his arms, her head resting over his heart. Loki smiled in his sleep, content for the first time in ages.


End file.
